


Rule of Three

by orangeleaf37



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Security Guard Jake, Smut, grad student Amy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeleaf37/pseuds/orangeleaf37
Summary: Amy's locked out of her dorm. Third time's the charm, right?Grad student!Amy and Security guard!Jake AU





	Rule of Three

Amy huffed in frustration, shifting from one foot to the other as she jiggled the knob of her dorm room for the tenth time. It was locked. It was locked, and she was outside of it. She was frantically shaking the knob, holding both her shower caddy and her cell phone in the other hand, clad only in a fluffy blue towel, wet hair dripping down her back. 

  


Maybe this wouldn’t be such a big deal, if it was the first time this had happened; it was, unfortunately, the third. And she had only been living in the building for a few weeks. The high-intensity grad school program had a great reputation, and Amy had uprooted her life (and broken off a romantic relationship, though it was on the outs anyway) to move hundreds of miles away and score a master’s degree in art history in the six month immersive program.  
But everything came at a price. Even though she had done four years of undergraduate classes, and had lived in dorms before, she had been struck by bad luck. Or maybe it was just forgetfulness. Either way, she knew her school ID and room key were attached to her school-issued lanyard, inside the room. She sighed deeply, pulling out her phone and dialing the number for the campus safety department.

  


“Hello, campus safety.”

  


“Hi, I’ve been locked out of my room,”

  


“If you can give me your name and location, I can have someone come let you in.”

  


“Umm, I’m Amy Santiago, and I’m in Holt 210.”

  


“Okay…” she heard typing on the other end of the phone. “I’m filing the report for you, and we’ll have an officer come by within the next few minutes.”

  


“Thank you.”

  


The man hung up and Amy took a deep breath. She couldn’t believe her own stupidity. She was going to glue the damn keys to her hand so she couldn’t forget them again. At least it was a Friday night, and everyone else on her floor was busy studying or out wherever people who had friends here went. Amy had her own night well planned: finishing her reading about the influence of American imperialism on African American artists in the 1920s, then turning in early. Maybe watching some of that documentary series she had been binging on Netflix…

  


The door to her floor slammed shut down the hall behind her, and she spun around to see the same cute campus security officer that had let her back into the hall after she forgot her ID when she had gone out for a smoke a few days ago. She cursed under her breath and tried to compose herself. She could feel the heat rushing into her face. Here she was, practically naked. He waited until he was close enough to speak comfortably, then called out to her.

  


“If this is your best move to try and seduce me, it’s not working.”

  


Amy sputtered. “It’s not, I just, I left my keys inside the room when I went to take a shower and I-“

  


He laughed. “It’s ok, I’m kidding. You really gotta get a handle on this key thing though. Didn’t I just let you in a couple days ago?”

  


“Yes,” Amy muttered. Her face was an embarrassing shade of scarlet.

  


“I’m Jake, you can ask for me by name if you need me to come by again.” He winked, reaching for his keys. “I’ll just need to see your ID once we get in to prove that you actually live here.”

  


Amy stepped back to give him access to the knob, where he made quick work of the lock. She pushed past him into the room, dropping her shower caddy onto the bed and grabbing her ID. He took it from her, holding it up and squinting like it was actual work to see that she resembled the professional headshot printed on the tiny plastic rectangle.

  


“So you’re either Amy Santiago or Amy Santiago’s stunning twin, with a foul motive to invade Holt hall! If you are the second option, let me just say that it is NOT worth it.” He finished with a serious look on his face.

  


“I’m Amy Santiago.” She said lamely. “I’m sorry to make you come over here just because of my stupid mistake.”

  


Jake held her ID card our to her. She almost thought she saw his eyes linger on her hands, then the swell of her chest under the towel. How old was this guy? He looked to be about her age. He seemed young for a security guard.

  


“Honestly, ma’am, this is a million times better than all the drunk eighteen year olds that I have to pick up from the freshman dorms. I always try to take the grad dorm calls.”

  


In that split second, she made a decision. Maybe it was her still-raw breakup with Teddy, maybe it was the way Jake’s hair was curling right next to his ears. In that minute, Amy Santiago made up her mind to go full seduction. If she was here anyway, she might as well have fun. She widened her eyes, putting her hand to her chest to adjust the towel.

  


“Don’t call me ma’am! Amy is fine. Thanks again, officer Jake, I really appreciate it.” She took the card from him, letting her hand linger. His fingers were warm. She thought she saw him blink a few times too many. She definitely saw him bite down on his lower lip.

  


“All in the line of duty, Amy,” he announced. “Is there anything else you need a hand with today?”

  


She let her eyes take up and down his body. His uniform cut a handsome silhouette. He had a pair of handcuffs on his belt.

  


“That’s all, officer,” she gushed. “I’ve really got to go get dressed.”

  


His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  


“Thanks again Jake!” She called as he left. He turned and gave her a theatrical salute just before closing the door behind himself.

  


 

The next time she saw him, she was frantically trying to move an overflowing pot of boiling water off of the burner of the stove in the floor’s communal kitchen. She had been trying to cook pasta to make macaroni and cheese (the dorm food was seriously horrible, and she was running low on funds to get takeout every night) and had become so engrossed in reading a New Yorker article on the discourse surrounding the Whitney’s most recent acquisition on her phone, and before she knew it, the pot was boiling over.

  


She made eye contact with Jake as she stood with the pot gripped in one hand and clouds of steam billowing around her. He opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again to speak.

  


“Great to see you with real person clothes on, Amy. You need some help with your, uhh--”

  


“My water?” Amy asked, confused. Jake chuckled. Amy focused on his mouth. He had the tiniest gap between his front teeth. She wanted to pull his hair.

  


“That’s just water? How do you screw up boiling water?”

  


“Like this, I guess,” Amy grimaced. “I’m a pretty bad cook, but the food in the dining hall is much worse.” Jake smiled at her.

  


“Want me to teach you how to boil water? I’m supposed to be doing my rounds, but I’m running early.”

  


“I don’t really think you need to-” Amy stopped herself. This was her in, wasn’t it? “Actually, is there some kind of technique I’m missing? I’d love to learn from someone who has more... intimate experience.”

  


Jake looked at his watch. “I think I have just enough time to show you the basics.”

  


Once they had soaked up all of the water from the floor and counters, Jake directed her on how to fill the pot (“only about halfway in a pot this size, especially if you’re only making one box”), what burner setting to use (“medium, if you have it too hot it might boil over again”) and the optional “salting the water” technique.

  


“Now, we wait,” Jake said. “It’ll probably take a few minutes to come to a boil.”

  


“Cool.” Amy said. Suddenly she didn’t know what to say. It was like in high school when she had really liked that kid Trevor, blanking out on what to say every time she saw him and he had ended up thinking she as weird for always asking him about the weather.

  


“So what are you studying?” Jake broke the silence with a question she thankfully knew how to answer.

  


“Art history,” she blurted. “But it’s not super cool, I know a lot of people don’t think-”

  


“What?!” Jake said. “That’s totally super cool. I wish I had been able to study something neat, but I just ended up as a security guy. Which is okay, I guess, but not nearly as cool as studying art and history at the same time. I don’t even get a gun. But I do get these sick handcuffs.” he gestures to his belt.

  


“Have you ever had to use them?” Amy asked. The water was still in the pot, no signs of bubbling. She wanted him to use them on her.

  


“Surprisingly, yes.” he says, his face and hands growing more animated. Amy watched him gesture his way through a story about a student who had been so drunk last fall that he’d tried to fight campus security. She didn’t want to admit that she had a thing for nice hands, but Jake’s fingers were just broad enough and she could imagine dragging her nails across his shoulders if he knew how to use them. It had been too long since she’d had good sex.

  


“And then after we confiscated the bong, one of the kids tried to bribe me to give it back to him. While I was on camera. Some people are just plain stupid.” He finished.

  


“Wow. This sounds like a tricky job. I don’t think I could ever be brave enough to work in security.”

  


“I am extremely tough and cool, thank you, Amy.” Jake was putting on a bravado that just made her laugh. He was a great balance of goofy and actually interesting. God, Amy couldn’t believe she had spent so long with such boring partners in the past. “Looks like that water be boiling, girl! Dump that pasta in there and stir it up!”

  


Amy poured the contents of the box (not the bag of powdered cheese, she at least had that much sense) into the pot.

  


“Let that sit for a while, however long the box says, and then we can taste the noodles and make sure they’re soft enough.”

  


She let Jake regale her with more stories of ridiculous freshmen antics until the pasta was finished cooking. Jake ran cool water over a couple noodles and handed her one to try. She watched the tiny macaroni noodle slip between his lips and tried to ignore the fact that yes, he was attractive, and maybe he had been flirting with her, but she wasn’t going to say anything because it was a weird superiority relationship and she wasn’t one to break the rules. The noodles were a perfect texture and she watched Jake chew and swallow.

  


“Beautiful work, Amy,” he announced, then, putting on a terrible English accent: “This may be the finest macaroni I have ever consumed, m’lady!”

  


“I would be nothing without my esteemed teacher,” she sighed dramatically. “He taught me everything I know.”

  


Jake’s phone rang, breaking the tension between them. He answered it with a curt “Peralta here, what’s up?”. Amy poured the rest of the ingredients into the pot and began to stir while he talked on the phone.

  


“Okay Amy, I’m glad I could teach you the ways of gourmet cooking, but duty calls and I gotta go on the rest of my rounds.”

  


“Thanks for your help Jake!” She smiled broadly and watched him turn, then hesitate.

  


“So like, this is maybe a little unprofessional, but I just watched a grown woman make macaroni and cheese as a meal, so I feel a little obligated to treat you to the finer things in life,” Jake babbled. “Can I give you my number and do you want to go out to dinner with me? You’re cute and I really hope that I’m not reading too far into this whole situation, also I’m only twenty-four so I hope this doesn’t come across as weird--”

  


“Sure, Jake,” Amy smiles. “I will gladly take your number, we should totally get dinner, and I’m twenty-three so like… no cradle robbing.”

  


“Noice.” Jake says. He lists off his number to Amy, who programs it into her phone. She promises to text him later, and Jake leaves with a bit of a swagger in his step that she feels like wasn’t there before.

  


She finishes the macaroni, scarfs it down, and after she’s finished reading the hundred pages of reading she’d been assigned this week, she strips down to pajamas and touches herself.

  


Her own fingers feel small, and when she comes, she tells herself not to think about those handcuffs. Or those hands.

  


 

She texts him the next day (Saturday) and is pleasantly surprised when he responds almost immediately.

>   
>  **Amy Santiago:  
> **   
>  Hey Jake, this is Amy! Wanted to see if you were still down to go out. I’m free tonight or most Tuesday nights. Let me know!  
>  Jake Peralta: **  
> **Hi Amy! Today is actually my day off so that would be sweet. Is 7 okay? You like sushi? I know a place ;)  
>  Amy Santiago:  
>  Yes to both! Send me the address and I can be there. **  
> **

A few hours later, Amy is agonizing over whether to wear her favorite cardigan or something a little dressier. She’s wearing a pair of black high waisted pants and a blouse that she knows makes her chest look amazing. She’d put on a matching set of cute underwear. Just in case. She settles on the cardigan, slipping on a necklace to class it up a little.

  


The walk to the restaurant is only a little ways from campus. She figures Jake must live nearby. He’s waiting next to the front door, wearing a beat-up leather jacket, facing away from her and tapping out a text on his cell phone. She comes up behind him and taps his shoulder.

  


“Hey Jake!”

  


“Oh, hey Amy! What’s up? Long time no see!” She cracks a smile and they go inside. Jake seems to know the owner, a tall muscular black man wearing suspenders under his apron. They order, start talking, and the next two hours are a rush of some of the most delicious sushi she’s ever had and absolutely the best first date she’s ever had. They talk previous first dates (she tells him about the awful dentist who had examined her teeth in the restaurant), their upbringings (Amy from Miami, Jake from New York) and their favorite movies.

  


“I can’t believe you’ve never seen Die Hard!” Jake exclaims for the third time. “It’s a classic of modern cinema!”

  


“I told you, my brothers never used to let me pick, plus they didn’t like cop movies!”

  


“Well, Amy,” Jake says, just after sneakily paying the check. “I happen to own the special edition DVD, and for the betterment of your existence, nay, the world’s benefit, I would cordially invite you back to my place to watch it.”

  


“If it’s that great, then I guess I have to, don’t I?” Amy shot back. She felt a little dizzy with the way Jake’s eyes had been focused on her throughout the dinner. It was a good rush.

  


Jake gave the owner a hug on the way out, then returned his full attention to Amy. It had been so long since anyone had seemed so charmed by her. Being with Jake felt so natural.

  


It turned out his place was close by, and the third-floor walkup was a little cluttered but surprisingly neat. She took in his decorating style (it could use some work, but what guy in his mid-twenties had good taste?) and the overall layout.

  


“It’s not amazing, but for a two bedroom place I’m actually paying a pretty decent price,” Jake explained.

  


“Nice. So where’s the holy grail of films being screened tonight? Bedroom one or bedroom two? Should I have bought my ticket beforehand?”

  


Jake points to the couch. It’s navy blue, overstuffed, and Amy sinks right into it when she sits down. She puts her sweater and her purse on the side table next to a lamp, and bends down to slip off her shoes. This angle puts her cleavage right in Jake’s line of sight, and when she straightens up she sees his eyes dart away from her. Good.

  


He rifles through his collection of movies and slides the disc into the player, navigating the controls smoothly. Then they’re an hour in, sitting so close to each other without touching, and she’s been seeing him staring at her out of the corner of her eye for a little while. She looks over at him and leans closer. He sucks in a breath when she reaches for his face.

  


Then they’re kissing and his mouth is as soft as she expected, and he really knows what to do. He guides her, tongue pressing into her mouth. Everything feels so natural, so right, and before she knows it he’s pinning her against the couch, hovering his hand over the spot where he’s untucked her shirt from her jeans.

  


“Is this okay? I don’t want to move too fast.”

  


She smiles. “This is fine. Thanks for asking. I’d like to keep going, if that’s alright with you.”

  


“Your wish is my command, my lady.” His voice is low. She can’t help but laugh.

  


“Did you really want me to watch Die Hard? You don’t seem so interested anymore.”

  


“It’s a cinematic masterpiece, Amy, keep watching it,” he says as he kisses down her chest, unbuttoning her shirt as he goes. “I’m just a little busy.”

  


Amy loses focus on the TV when Jake’s hands start tugging down her pants. His eyes are on her, and she hears him sigh softly when he reveals her lacy underwear. He looks back up at her face, and his pupils are wide.

  


“Fuck, Amy,” he breathes. Then his hands are back on her, lifting her ass off of the couch so that his tongue can press into the wet spot in her panties, fingers pulling aside the fabric so that he can slide his tongue against her.

  


A moan escapes Amy before she can stop it. She half-covers her mouth, embarrassed, but Jake keeps going, sliding his tongue up to circle her clit, pushing one of his fingers into her slick heat. His eyes are shut, and she watches his head bob between her legs for a moment before reaching down to tangle her fingers into Jake’s hair. When she runs her fingers through it she swears he licks even harder, and when she tugs a little he growls into her, the vibrations rumbling through her core.

  


“Jake, I’m--” she can’t believe he’s gotten her so close to coming so quickly. It’s been a while, but Jake’s tongue is working absolute magic against her clit. He keeps lapping at her steadily, and she rides out a white-hot orgasm with two of his fingers buried inside her and his tongue hitting that spot she likes just right.

  


He slows when she lets go of the curls she’d been using to guide his mouth, and she taps him on the head. He looks up, his eyes wide, licking his lips. She can see her slick around his mouth and down his chin. Her pussy throbs again.

  


“Can we take this to your bedroom?” She tries to be sultry, and he nods, wiping his mouth against the sleeve of his shirt, which is far too present for her liking. When she stands, her legs wobble a little, but she places a hand on his chest and kisses him again, tasting herself on his tongue. From her position in front of him, she can feel his erection tenting the front of his dark jeans.

  


He turns and leads her into one of the doors attached to the little hallway, and Amy lets him turn on a lamp before she sidles up to him and begins slipping his shirt up and over his head. His chest is dusted with hair, and Amy runs her fingernails over it before her hands go back down to his belt. With one hand jiggling the buckle, she uses her other to get him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Once he does, she moves her second hand to his belt buckle and settles on her knees between his legs. Underneath his pants are a pair of boxer briefs sporting a sizeable bulge (has it been too long, or is Jake really…. big?). He bucks his hips up into her hand when she strokes him through his underwear, and his face is pink.

  


“God, Amy, please--”

  


She takes him out of his underwear, one hand stroking along the shaft and the other caressing his balls. He is pretty big, she thinks, and nice and thick. The head of his cock is dark and when it disappears into her mouth he moans loudly. One of his hands gathers her hair away from her mouth, but he doesn’t move her head for her. He does push his hips up, just a little, and she starts bobbing her head, relaxing her throat and quickly finding a spot just under the head with her tongue that makes his thighs clench up.

  


She loses herself in the feeling of him, hot and heavy against her tongue, his moans echoing in her ears until he tightens the hand buried in her hair and says:

  


“Shit, I’m gonna come, oh, fuck--”

  


He does come, in thick pulses into her mouth and down her throat, and when she pulls her mouth off of him with a slick noise he tugs her up by the shoulders to look intensely into her eyes and tell her that holy shit, Amy, that was fucking hot, and also I hope this isn’t awkward but do you want to stay here tonight?

  


“Sure,” she breathes, and before she knows what’s happening he’s pulling her into a rib-crushing hug, her body against his bare chest, and even though she didn’t bring a toothbrush, which is a Santiago necessity, somehow, she feels okay about this whole thing. He gives her an old shirt and a pair of boxers to sleep in, lets her use his toothbrush, and leaves her in privacy to pee and settle down for bed. Once she’s emptied her bladder and flossed carefully, she goes back to lie down in his bed.

  


Amy drifts off to sleep to the sound of Jake rustling around in the bathroom; she wakes, just a little, when his weight makes the mattress dip beside her and his lips meet her forehead. In the night, the two of them find each other, and when she wakes up, her cheek is pressed into the back of one of his shoulders. In the morning, they will fuck again before she leaves for class, and she will text him that night asking when date number two is.

  


 

The third time they hang out she notices the thin silhouette of a joint laying on Jake’s coffee table between an empty mug and his TV remote. They smoke out the window in his room, sitting too close together on his bed and blowing smoke into a fan that propels it outside. It’s unseasonably warm for October. Amy rarely smokes weed, coughing through a few hits before everything starts to feel fuzzier. Jake is mostly level-headed, eyes only a little glassy. They’re snickering over some stupid pun Jake made when suddenly Amy is struck with a sense of warmth. After that, she starts to think that maybe she’s falling in love. Getting her pussy eaten while stoned is just an added bonus.

  


They spend weekends together, Jake cautious about being seen with her on campus because of his job. She watches him grow a surprisingly even beard in November, and he invites her to celebrate Hanukkah a week and a half after he shaves it back off. She buys him a forest green sweater for Christmas (“even though you don’t celebrate,” she’d said,) and he cooks for her, boxing up leftovers so that she can reheat them in the microwave back at her dorm.

  


The week off from her classes in January she spends lounging in his bed. He uses sick days for her, though he doesn’t tell her this directly; she overhears him calling in one morning when he thinks she’s still asleep. She’s aceing her classes. Everything feels like it has finally fallen into place; has she ever been this happy?

  


By the end of January, she starts looking for jobs nearby, staying after class to talk to her professor about curatorial positions at nearby museums. She watches the empty room in Jake’s apartment carefully; no one ever moves in. She wonders if she could.

  


He starts to get more distant with her every time she mentions finishing the degree. They’re on his couch together, her writing a paper and him watching a cop movie on TV, when he says what they’ve both been thinking for the past few weeks.

  


“When you graduate this program are you going to move away?”

  


She looks up from her paper, surprised. He’s looking at her with an unidentifiable expression on his face. Her feet are up on his lap but he’s turned to face her. His fingers trace circles on her ankles.

  


“I don’t know,” she admits. “I came out here to try and find some kind of direction, to change my life in a good way. This degree will open a lot of doors for me.”

  


“Move in with me,” he blurts out. “I have the extra room and everything is so good. I know we haven’t been together for long but it feels like we’ve known each other forever, and honest to god, Amy, I’m really in love with you.”

  


Amy feels her face split into a wide smile and puts her laptop down on the coffee table so she can lean forward and kiss him. Jake is so warm; he feels like home.

  


“Are you sure you don’t want me to go so you can pick up another hot grad student next term?”

  


He shoots her a dirty look but she can see his eyes smiling. “You know that’s not how this is.”

  


She finishes her essay with her feet in his lap, and when she’s done, she promises to move in with him between kissing him and taking off his t-shirt.

  


He comes to her graduation ceremony, even though she tells him he doesn’t have to; he buys her flowers that match perfectly with the school colors on the robe, and that night he makes her orgasm twice in a row for the first time. He helps her transport the contents of her dorm room into his spare room; he puts her towels in the bathroom cabinet alongside his and lets her have half the hall closet to hang her blazers and jackets.

  


He meets her parents six months later, when they take a weekend trip to Miami to pick up some of Amy’s things from her parents’ storage locker. They love him, especially after he entertains them with stories about how horrible their daughter is at cooking. When Jake goes to use the bathroom, Amy’s mother gives her a look, settling Amy’s nervousness with a simple “He’s wonderful.”

  


After that, everything stays easy; they go to work, come home, adopt a cat, naming the big black feline after where they’d first met: Holt. Everything is so good; months go by, they move apartments. Jake gets promotions, Amy curates shows at the Brooklyn Museum. They go to fancy museum galas, arm in arm, and at their wedding, Jake makes jokes during his toast about how he knew he was going to marry Amy since he saw her in just a towel. Amy can’t believe it (and she knows if she could go back in time and tell her grad student self that the cute security guard would marry her someday, she would call herself crazy) but she guesses that even if things happen that she could never have predicted, sometimes they work out.

 ** ** **  
******


End file.
